


Revelations

by ottertrashpalace



Series: Shamless Stucky Fluff [4]
Category: Captain America
Genre: Dancer!Bucky, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Modern Dance, Nightmares, Not CACW Compliant, Post-CAWS, Steve has a teeny weeny bit of toxic masculinity, body issues, check the rest of the series for context, dance, it will be addressed in ch 2, self-rediscovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-28 20:50:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7656226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ottertrashpalace/pseuds/ottertrashpalace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After seeing modern dancers on TV, Bucky remembers how much he loved moving his body to music and Steve is only too happy to find him new ways to do so.<br/>Or, Bucky starts to accept his body through dance therapy</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revelations

It was a little after midnight, and Bucky just plain couldn't stand himself. He had dozed off just once that night, and his mind had drifted straight to the day on the helicarrier, with Steve's face a patchwork of blood and bruises beneath him.

_"You're my friend!"  
"You're my mission."_

He never woke screaming from that particular nightmare, just panting, and covered in cold sweat. Steve was fast asleep beside him, with golden hair all pushed to one side and his mouth slightly open--A very nice mouth--

 _Oh, can it, Barnes_ , he berated himself. The last thing Steve needed was another form of  commitment to a man he didn't even know anymore.

Bucky slipped out of bed quieter than a whisper (believe it or not, his particular skill set did have some perks) and went into the living room. Steve didn't pay for Netflix, or even cable, but Bucky really needed something pull his brain out of this whirlpool.

He knew from experience not to bother with any of the cop shows or the medical dramas, but that left plenty of crap 1 am TV for him to peruse. He stayed for a while on some old 80's shit-com, but the father had dark hair and his eyes reminded Bucky of something he'd rather not remember so he kept surfing.

Eventually, he landed on PBS, where an old woman wearing lots of geometric jewelry was urging him to buy a full DVD set of Downton Abbey. Her hair was dyed fading red, and desperately thin in a way he couldn't say he recognized. Safe.

Around forgy minutes later, the programming changed. Bucky jerked awake from his half-sleeping stupor. Nervous, he reached for the remote, but it was just some taped dance performance. Safe.

He hadn't intended to actually watch what was happening on the screen, but the movements seemed to draw him in. They were dancing in a way he'd never seen before, never thought before, but somehow it seemed right to him. Their movements were loose-jointed and almost casual, but still in complete unison with each other and the music. Bucky knew the foxtrot and the jitterbug from back in the 30's, and he'd seen some ballet in his time-- _a flash of blue eyes, tiny wrists pale veiny with red spreading no no nO NO_ \-- but this was all new. He remembered what Steve had said to him earlier that week, about maybe going to dance classes. At the time it had seemed ridiculous, but if this, whatever it was, was something he could learn, maybe he was more interested than he'd thought.

The following morning, Bucky awoke blearily on the couch as the sun started to come through the blinds. He noticed that Steve's running shoes were gone from their perch by the front door, and estimated that it must be around 5:30, since the Steve would be back from his run by 6, latest.

Bucky pushed himself off of the couch and wandered back into his bedroom, where they'd been the night before. He collapsed onto Steve's side face down, breathing in the familiar musk left on his pillow. As much as instinct wanted him to push on through the day with three hours of sleep, Bucky knew full well that the less he slept, the closer the Winter Soldier was to the surface. Something about higher brain function shutting down.  
He inhaled Steve's smell and let it lull his body back to sleep.

  
Steve hated running when the sun was already up. It was 5:45, and already he'd seen too many phone cameras pointed in his direction. Despite the growing number of stares, though, he kept going. He had a mission this morning.

The VA was about a twenty-minute run from the apartment for Steve, and as he arrived at the double doors in front, he checked his watch. _18_ , he thought. _Not bad._

Inside, the receptionist gave him a smile. So far, so good.

"Hi," he started. "Um, I've been looking into your... Dance therapy classes, and I was wondering if I could speak with one of the instructors."

The receptionist raised one eyebrow slightly. No doubt there were frilly tutu-clad Captain Americas prancing around in her mind's eye.

"It's for a friend," Steve tried. The eyebrow went up another notch.

"Uh, I'll see if she's in," the receptionist told him, reaching for her desk phone.

Steve tapped his fingers absentmindedly on the counter and pretended not to listen.

"Hey, Joan, are you--? Uh, okay, I'll just-- Be up in a minute-- yes, I'll tell him, don't wo-- of course. I'll see y-- bye."

She hung up. It was Steve's turn to raise his eyebrows.

The receptionist sighed. "Yup, she's always like that. Keep that in mind, alright? Second door on your left. Don't bother knocking."  
She pointed Steve down a hallway and went back to her computer.  
Steve followed her directions with the heavy taste of reluctance in his mouth. He paused, braced himself, and opened the door. For Bucky, he thought.

The room, and the woman in it, were not what he'd been expecting. She was noticeably small, with broad shoulders and thighs to make up for it. Her hair was also short, and jet black, tied back tightly in a ponytail. The wall behind her was made of mirrors. 

"You the one Anya just sent up?" She asked shortly.

Steve nodded. "Steve Rogers, pleasure to meet you."

"Joan."

They shook hands, and considered each other for a moment.

"I know who you are, Captain Rogers--" she began

"Please, call me Steve,"

"-- I know who you are, and correct me if I'm wrong, but what with the way you came in here starin' at the mirrors and the bar I don't think you're here to get dance therapy. If you could kindly cut to the chase, I have a Zumba class in five minutes." She finished bluntly.

Steve blinked, taken aback, and moved his gaze guiltily to the floor in front of him. He wasn't used to being talked to like that, but if he was honest, it was kinda refreshing.

"Well you're right, it ain't for me," he says, "it's for a close friend. He's a vet."

"If it's for this friend, why isn't he here?" Joan asks, glancing at the clock on the wall.

"Agoraphobia." Steve hesitates. He reminds himself that if she's going to help Bucky, this woman needs to know some of the facts. She certainly seems like she can handle it. "He was a POW, for a long time. Stays holed up at my place, hasn't left since the day he got there. He's wasting away. Used to be a great ol' dancer, he really knew how to move, but... Now he can't walk out the door. I wanted to give him something to live for."

Joan squints at him for what feels like hours. "Mondays, three pm sharp. Mixed modern and aerial. Tell him to wear stretchy clothes."

Steve didn't know what to say. He had been so convinced that it wasn't going to be an easy sell, and yet... "Thanks, ma'am." He said, and turned to leave the room.

"Oh, and Captain Rodgers?" She called, as he was almost out the door. He turned. "Be careful where you put your heart. America needs it, too."

Steve opened his mouth, and then quickly snapped it shut. What the hell was that?  _She doesn't know what she's talking about_ , he told himself as he closed the door sharply behind him. Nervous energy powered him all the way home within a quarter hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this ridiculous shit, honestly I just wanted to explore the idea of Bucky accepting himself through dance and whatnot. I was gonna have him do ballet, but a) I know fuckall about ballet and b) red room connotations.  
> Fun fact: the dance that Bucky saw on PBS was Exoduhs performed by Alvin Ailey, and the title is from one of their best known works (revelations) which you should DEFINITELY look up. Only the best of the best for my suffering children. Chapter two coming soon, and with more dancing I promise!  
> Pls leave kudos and comments, they feed my family and exfoliate my skin


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